Magical Omens
by Dragonanzar
Summary: To get away from the rabid Press, Harry moves to Lower Tadfield. It's just his luck that he happens to move into the house next to Mr and Mrs Adam Young. A series of one-shots rooted in that premise. This will be crossed with Supernatural at points, as well. Mostly focused on Harry, but not totally.
1. The Move

This is a series of one-shots with the central theme of Harry becoming Adam's next door neighbour. The main cross-over is, of course, Harry Potter and Good Omens, but it will also be crossed with Supernatural (and maybe some others, though I haven't yet decided). They won't be all in chronological order and though most of them will focus on Harry, not all will. Enjoy!

Having consulted the Good Omens lexicon (because I really can't be bothered to scan through the text looking for geographical references to where Lower Tadfield could be when someone else has done it for me) I have placed Lower Tadfield on a place called 'Nettlebed'. Tadfield would therefore be 'Walingford' and this is in South Oxfordshire. Just to clear up any confusion before it occurs.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed into a newly unloaded chair. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket he wiped his sweaty forehead. Looking around at the boxes strewn everywhere the eye could see, he felt like groaning.

When Ron and Hermione had decided to go to Tadfield for their summer holiday, it hadn't even crossed Harry's mind that he might decide to move there a couple of months later. Well, not there precisely. Lower Tadfield, a place a bit nearer London. However, Ron's complaints about there being a lack of decent reporters – apparently they seemed more interested in heroic rescues of cats out of trees than _real_ heros (Ron's words) – and the phenomenally low population of witches and wizards in the area made his decision for him. And so, the boy-who-lived-to-defeat-Voldemort-and-was-thereafter-never-left-in-peace had sold his flat, bought a nice little cottage, and moved.

Of course, due to it being a muggle area, he had had to do things the muggle way. That meant boxes. And a removals van. And loading the boxes. And unloading the boxes. The latter activity was what had led to his current position. How did muggles do it? Harry had at least had magic, and his friends, to pack up his house. A nifty little charm enabled a magic-user to pack up a whole house if joined with a couple of other magically similar wizards. After all they had been through together, magically similar was the least of what the trio were.

How Harry wished that there was an equally nifty charm to _un_pack all the boxes. Unfortunately, apart from the one that could unpack clothes, there wasn't. But that was a start. Harry had just got up to start unpacking when a knocking sound came from his door. When he opened it, a smiling, red-headed, thirty-year old woman met his eyes.

"Hi, I'm Pepper Young. I live next door." Harry smiled and held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you…er…Mrs Young?"

"Oh, yes, I'm married," she hurried to reassure him and Harry relaxed a bit, reasonably sure he wasn't about to get slapped.

"My name's Harry Potter," he said and was thankful when she had no reaction to his name. With any luck the lack of recognition would continue with everyone he met.

"Well, Mr Potter, would you like to come round for some tea? I have a lovely home-baked cake." Harry glanced over his shoulder at the chaos that was his sitting room and reflected that he would be lucky to find where his wallet was, let alone his food.

"I would love to, Mrs Young. And do call me Harry, please." She smiled at him again, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Only if you call me Pepper. And no jokes about the name," she remonstrated him sternly. He promised he wouldn't dare to crack a joke and followed her out of his garden and into the next door one.

His neighbour's house was cosy and quite similar to his own. Painted in a somewhat neutral cream, it nonetheless gave off a definite impression of being lived in. Harry saw several pictures adorning the walls. Some with Pepper in through various stages of life. Sometimes she was with a man who he guessed was her husband. Other times with another couple who were probably her parents. Then there were some other pictures who could be friends or family members, Harry couldn't be sure.

They settled down in a nice sitting room that looked out onto a typical English back garden. A well-mowed lawn, a couple of trees burgeoning with fruit, a small vegetable patch and a garden shed. Harry squinted. There might even be a little pond beyond the vegetable patch, or that might just be a darker patch of grass.

"Here you go." A cup of milky tea appeared over his shoulder. He thanked his hostess and took it and the saucer of chocolate cake she handed him. While the tea was far too milky for his tastes, the cake was delicious. Moist and rich, it was everything Harry liked chocolate cake to be. Trying to devour it in a way that remained polite, Harry still managed to finish the slab in a few moments. Pepper's eyebrows went up.

"You liked it then?" Harry nodded vigorously, still finishing a mouthful.

"It's wonderful! Could you give me the recipe, please?" Pepper laughed. I'll ask my husband when he comes home." Now it was Harry's eyebrows' turn to rise.

"Your husband cooked this?"

"He's a very good cook. It makes up for me being able to burn a salad. And I did." Harry chuckled a bit.

"How did you manage that?" She looked sheepish.

"Well, no one ever told me that when making Ceasar salad, it was a good idea to take the chicken out of the pan before adding the rest of the leaves and bits." She reflected for a moment. "Probably having the gas on high was a bad mistake, too." Harry laughed. "So what about you? Any culinary disasters in your history?" Harry shook his head.

"No, not culinary disasters. Though, when I was younger, I had a habit of trying to make magic potions with sometimes dangerous results." Pepper grinned.

"Oh yes, I know the type. Mix together leaves, berries, mud and half a dead mouse. Forget about it for a few days and then almost get slain by the stink when you check on it later." They laughed together. "Now you've decided not to embark on a career as a potion-making warlock, what do you do?"

"Free-lance detective. When the police are puzzled about what's causing something, they call on me."

"Any interesting cases lately?" Harry smirked and his eyes glinted.

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you." Pepper chuckled and smacked him on the arm.

"OK James Bond. I bet most of your cases involve hypnotised cats or disappearing wallets." Harry smiled but said nothing, not quite sure how to de-magify the cases he took on.

"So what do you do? I mean, you obviously don't cook so that's out."

"I'm not cut out to be a housewife," she said without shame. "Can't cook, can't clean, haven't got kids. No, I'm a part time electrician, plumber, gardener and roofer. Just little jobs, but ones that people don't want to call in a workman for."

"A handy-man then?" Harry was surprised when she started glaring at him.

"Handy-woman. Just because I'm a woman does not mean I can't do the job properly." Harry put up his hands in surrender.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were so vehement about it. Handy-woman." She glared at him for a few more moments and he felt a bit as though he was facing something scary that could attack at the slightest provocation. Finally she relaxed and so did he along with her.

"I'm a bit touchy about that sort of thing, I suppose," she admitted with a little laugh. "I also work as the head of this district's feminist division. That's why I'm at home today." Harry nodded.

"And your husband?"

"Adam? He's a lawyer in London. He commutes."

"A lawyer?" Harry tried to keep his expression and tone neutral, but Pepper must have seen some of his doubt. He hadn't had the best experience with lawyers. In the Wizarding world, even though it was changing, a pureblood with bags of money would usually get off charges even if it was pretty obvious he or she had done it. Look at Aphrodite Zabini. Everyone knew she killed off her husbands, hence never getting around to changing everything to her husband's name, yet she had never even been charged.

"He's a good one. He refuses to ever take on a client who he thinks has committed the crime. And he's good at judging," she added.

"I see," Harry said, still slightly dubious. Pepper huffed.

"Fine. He's staying over at a friend's tonight, but he'll be home tomorrow. Why don't you come to dinner with us?"

"I wouldn't like to impose…." Harry prepared to decline but Pepper kept insisting until he had to accept. He left with 'I'll send Adam round to tell you when to come' ringing in his ears.

The next day Ron and Hermione came around with Charlie, George, Neville and Luna to ward the property. Seven was a good number for warding and, of course, Charlie had had experience with protecting properties in his dragon work. Unfortunately, Bill was busy on a big job in Ireland with Gringotts otherwise he would have been there.

They put down the usual wards: anti-burglary; notice-me-not to disguise works of magic; a framework for further custom wards; a couple of anti-creature wards to keep out the more dangerous pests; anti-malicious-owl wards; some others that Harry didn't really know about. Then there were the privacy wards which were necessary for the boy-who-lived and a few more protection ones. When they had done, Harry went inside and got out a couple of beers. Luckily he had managed to find the food storage boxes. Handing one out to everyone, he was intrigued to see what Luna was doing.

She seemed to be digging little holes around the boundary of the garden and putting bags in them. She then went to the porch and started fixing a strange contraption to the railing. Harry wandered over to her, sipping his beer.

"What's this for," he asked curiously. Luna looked up at him, big blue eyes very serious.

"Harry, if this ever starts rattling really fast, don't leave the porch. It's an anti-wrackspurt device." She started fixing up something that looked like an old horse-shoe to the lintel above the front door. "The younger wrackspurts really don't like pure iron horse-shoes inscribed with runes of the Mal'akh." There was a scoffing sound behind them and they turned to meet a familiar sight of a disbelieving Hermione. The others started to gather, grinning, as they realised one of the famous – or infamous – Luna/Hermione debates was about to commence.

"Oh Luna, the runes of the Mal'akh are a myth. Nothing more." Luna blinked at her innocently.

"But how could they be a myth if that horse-shoe is inscribed with them?"

"Whatever is written there isn't some sort of 'angel' language. Most likely it's just some forgotten form of writing that someone decided could be by angels." Hermione's tone was very condescending.

"Then why would it keep away wrackspurts?" Luna countered with serenity. She did it very well.

"Wrackspurts don't exist, ergo, they cannot be kept away, but neither can they _not_ be kept away."

"Then being safe is better than being sorry." Hermione threw up her hands and went inside. Disappointed, the others started to drift away, feeling slightly cheated. They had been hoping for a repeat of an argument a few years ago when it had actually devolved into a proper catfight, wands abandoned, scratching and hair-pulling heartily embraced.

When Harry's friends left they took some of Harry's cheer with them. Left to an empty house with loads of remaining boxes – despite his friends' help. Well, Hermione and Neville's help. Luna had spent her time putting more stuff in the walls of his new place, Ron had been snoring on the newly unearthed couch and he really didn't want to know what George had been up to – he felt slightly lonely. Just then, he caught a glimpse of a man starting to come up his garden path.

Suddenly remembering his dinner date, he rushed to the door. About to call out, he stopped as he realised Luna's wrackspurt device was spinning furiously. Frowning, he stepped closer to it. As he left the house, he heard a sizzling noise above his head. Looking up he saw the horseshoe was now glowing a cherry red and burning the paint it rested on. He lifted his hand. It was hot enough to feel from several inches away. Huh.

The man, in the meantime, had reached his porch. Harry inspected him. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Quite handsome. He had the strangest energies coming off him. Almost as if he was a wizard, but not.

"Hi," the man said in a friendly way. "I'm Adam Young. I think you met my wife yesterday."

"Yes," Harry affirmed cautiously. "I'm Harry Potter." The man nodded.

"Good to know. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Just let me quickly get changed." Adam waved it aside.

"Don't worry. We don't stand on ceremony much. Come as you are."

Back in the next door house and sitting at the table, Harry was contentedly sniffing the air.

"Smells delicious," he said appreciatively as Adam brought in the plates. Adam smiled and gestured for him to tuck in. At first the table was silent as they enjoyed the lovely cheesy chicken and caramelised carrots, along with new potatoes and garden beans.

"So Harry, what made you move here?" asked Pepper, wiping her mouth. Harry shrugged.

"I needed a change in scenery. Why else?" Harry noticed Adam had a slightly enigmatic smile on his face. "Have you lived here long?"

"Grew up here. Not this house, of course, but one just down the road. Adam's parents live a couple of lanes away." Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You never wanted to move?"

"Why would we?" Adam had joined the conversation. "Lower Tadfield suits us."

"It certainly seems agreeable so far," Harry agreed.

"Unfortunately there isn't much of a magical community to speak of." Harry froze as the words registered. From the confused look Pepper sent to Adam, she didn't know what he was talking about. Maybe he could bluff it out. He forced a laugh, hoping it wasn't really as fake as it sounded to his ears.

"Not to worry, I don't think I would fit into some magical community." Adam sighed.

"Don't worry about pretending around us. You might find it useful to have neighbours who know what you are." The fear within Harry turned to anger.

"How the hell do you know?" he hissed.

"Exactly," Adam replied calmly. Harry frowned.

"Huh?"

"You asked 'how the hell do you know'. That's exactly how I know."

"So what?" Harry started slowly. "You're some kind of demon?"

"Not a demon, no. The Antichrist." Harry's brain ground to a halt. No way. That couldn't be true. Finally, he started laughing, a hysterical note threading its way through the chuckles.

"You know, I'd say you were lying, but this is _exactly_ my luck. Only I could move to a country village near London and end up living next to the _Antichrist_." He shook his head, still amused. "I guess this is where I ask you whether I'm on your hit list or if you're intending to bring the apocalypse any time soon. I might as well spend my wealth if you are." Adam smiled.

"No, you're not on my 'hit list'. I don't have one, anyway. As for the apocalypse, been there, done that, decided I actually liked this world as it is when I was eleven." Harry shook his head again.

"How in…on Earth did you two get together?" Harry directed his question at Pepper. "Hell's annual tea party?" They both grinned.

"Nah, I was part of Them when I was younger. Adam was the ringleader."

"Them?"

"It was the only name that stuck." Adam shrugged depreciatively.

"Being the Antichrist, I can see why you became a lawyer," Harry said darkly. "If ever there were forces of Hell on Earth, they would be them."

"Actually it's a bone of contention between my father and I," Adam corrected. "He was pleased I became a lawyer, after he got over being annoyed I didn't want to bring down the apocalypse on humanity, but keeps on at me to get the criminals off charges."

"I…see," Harry said slowly, trying to reconcile all he had heard about the Devil with the picture Adam seemed to be painting.

"So, Pepper tells me you're a detective. Magical cases, I presume?" On firmer ground, Harry figured it wouldn't be of any harm to talk in plain terms. Heaven help any obliviators who tried to do their job with the Antichrist!

"Yes. I usually work alongside the Auror department. That's the magical form of policemen, by the way. They are quite busy and, to be honest, their deduction skills tend to be limited to run of the mill dark wizard cases. They're very good at those, don't get me wrong, but present them with a slightly odd murder or series of murders which couldn't have been humans, werewolves or vampires, and they're at sea."

"So that's where you come in," murmured Adam. Harry nodded.

"Me and a couple of others. Malicious spirits, zombies, demons, mythical creatures, unusual werewolves and vampires, you name it. Most legends are based in fact and I've met a good number of them. Of course, seeing as werewolves and vampires are mostly considered part of the magical community, those cases I just tend to send a report in and then the Aurors deal with the actual perpetrator." Catching a glimpse of Pepper's glazed expression, he blushed. "Sorry, I know I can get quite boring about my job."

"No, no, no," she assured him. "It's not that at all. It's just that even after over twenty years, I still haven't quite got to grip with all the surprises being near Adam brings." Harry frowned.

"So you didn't know about the Magical world?" She shook her head.

"Not before tonight, at any rate."

"Oh." Harry considered it but finally shrugged. Technically it had been Adam who had dropped the bomb so Harry couldn't even really be blamed for it. Not that he thought he would ever be charged with something as little as breaking the Statute of Secrecy with his neighbours, much as he hated the principle of the special treatment.

"So, any good stories about any of your cases?" Pepper said finally when the silence was getting a bit awkward. Harry smiled and leaned forwards.

"Well, there was this time when…"

Three hours later he left the Young's house, slightly tipsy from the strong after dinner whiskey, and very happy with his new neighbours. Adam was weird, but a good kind of weird. By all accounts, he attracted strange happenings as much as Harry himself did, so there was a kindred feeling immediately. Pepper was great fun as long as she didn't feel he was casting aspersions on her capabilities as a woman. Harry wondered how Adam put up with the rabid feminism, but then realised he probably just tuned it out.

Fumbling with the key, he opened the door and almost tripped over a box. He realised with dismay that his bed wasn't actually accessible at that time due to the large amount of _stuff_ piled on it. Not to mention he had no idea where all the sheets were. He then tried to conjure a bed but the alcohol disrupted his focus and he ended up with a baby's cot instead. Giving it up as a bad job, he flopped onto the sofa.

_Yes,_ he thought, staring contentedly at the ceiling as his eyelids flagged. _I'm going to be happy here_.


	2. Medium

Warnings: Season 7.13 spoilers.

Characters: Dean, Sam, Harry, Bobby, a brief showing of a Reaper.

Summary: When Bobby is shot, ripples are sent that Harry feels. Fearing Bobby's stubbornness will trap him as a ghost, Harry goes to investigate. Set probably about eight years after Harry moves to Lower Tadfield.

A/N This is something which I'm not sure really fits in with this series. It does, but there isn't a huge amount of focus on Harry being Master of Death in this particular story line. I am, however, working on a HP/SPN story where him being MoD is a huge deal, more than anyone knows which this would fit in better by. But I'd like people's thoughts on it, if you care to give them so I know whether it's going down well.

Enjoy

Harry stiffened as he felt the familiar ripples. Courtesy of being the Master of Death, he could feel it when someone died, but luckily, unless he was trying, he would only feel those he had met and felt some level of emotion for. This was the ripple of someone desperately trying to hang onto life, someone who was evading his Reaper, someone who Harry had met and worked with several times over the last few years. And while he normally stayed out of Reaper business, he owed it to the man to visit.

With a thought he was at the centre of the ripples, seeing Bobby arguing with one of the Reapers, a man Harry knew as Gregory. Harry stepped up to the Reaper and put his hand on the being's shoulder, gaining the attention of both participants in the conversation.

"Thank you, Gregory," Harry said quietly. "I'll take it from here." The Reaper turned to him angrily and then, seeing who was ordering him, lowered his eyes and disappeared. Bobby looked at him with hope.

"Harry! You've come to get me out?" Harry shook his head sadly. Bobby frowned. "What d'you mean, you idjit? Just jam my soul back in my body and heal my melon." Harry sighed and sat down to join Bobby.

"I can't do that, I'm sorry."

"Why not? You've healed us all enough times!" Harry shook his head slowly.

"That was different. None of you were ever at this point." He looked directly at Bobby and the old hunter was taken aback at the glow in his eyes. In fact, Harry wasn't look particularly human at all with his glowing eyes, skin and hair that appeared like a vacuum for colour. There was a hum coming from his hand on which appeared a ghostly ring and there was an impression of a cloak around the wizard's shoulders, though he was wearing normal clothes.

"Bobby, you're dead. The only reason you're technically still here is because you're too stubborn to let go. Back in the real world, you've been declared dead. Your boys are mourning you. It's time to move on." Bobby scowled.

"No. I'm not leaving them alone. I've got a job to do! I've got information I've got to tell them. The idjits probably won't realise the importance of that spot like I did. You're this big Master of Death or something, aren't you? The Reapers obey you. That Reaper jammed Dean's soul back in his body didn't she?" Harry breathed in and out deeply, hating what he was having to say.

"Yes, she did, but she shouldn't have. The only reason she did it was because she had been possessed by a demon. Dean's soul was damaged. Anyone who could see souls could see that. The difference now is that it was damaged enough by Hell to mask the initial cracks. Bad things happen when you mess around with death. Look at what happened to Sam! No, Bobby. It's either come with me now or stay as a spirit." Bobby's mouth set.

"I've got a job to do and information to hand over." Harry's mouth also thinned.

"Listen, Bobby. You're a friend of mine, so I'll give you this information that doesn't normally get given to souls on the brink. You don't want to stay as a spirit. If you want information to be given over, tell me and I'll pass on the message. Hell, if you want, I could summon you with the resurrection stone so you can give it to Dean and Sam yourself. But you don't want to become a ghost."

"Why are you so sure about that?" Bobby asked, but not as belligerently as before. It seemed like he was thinking over Harry's words more closely now that he had an option of dying and passing on the information.

"Because I know what happens to spirits. Look, say, you become a spirit to help Dean and Sam, say you manage to master a ghost's ability to move objects within record time and so are actual use on their hunts, say you help kill the Leviathans, what then? You'll be stuck on Earth, always the same age, always the same stage of development, slowly deteriorating until you are either a poltergeist, if you let the rage control you, or a shadow of your former self, incapable of doing more than lowering the temperature and flickering a few lights." Harry could see his words were having an effect so he brought in his big guns.

"Imagine Dean and Sam. Imagine them not knowing whether to mourn or not: you're dead, but you're still around. Imagine what they would feel like, knowing one more of their father figures has sacrificed his place in Heaven to help them. Imagine if you start becoming a vengeful spirit and they have to kill you. Imagine it if you don't and you just keep hanging around while they try to move on with their lives. If you choose not to come with me now, you will be on Earth until you are set loose by your anchor being burned." Harry fell silent then and let Bobby think about it.

"Ah, Hell," he sighed finally. "Dammed if I do, dammed if I don't." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I've already pointed out you're going to Heaven if you choose to die, so there isn't the dammed if you do side of things." Bobby shot him a sideways glance.

"You don't know the angels like we do." He paused. "You will summon me, won't you?" he checked with Harry. The wizard nodded. "OK, fine. I'll go with you. Happy?" Harry smiled.

"Very. Even I can't drag an unwilling soul into the afterlife, so I'm glad I don't have to try." With that, he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and they walked into the light together.

**Two Weeks Later**

A knock fell on the door. Dean and Sam both picked up their guns and Sam went to open the door, Dean covering him. In stepped Harry, walking straight through the devil's trap, over the lines of salt. Without needing to be asked, he splashed himself with a bit of Holy water, Borax and cut himself with a silver knife. The hunters relaxed and Dean threw Harry a beer.

"What bring you here, Harry?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, and how did you actually find us?" Dean added. Harry cast an amused look at Dean.

"As good as your warding is, there's only one item that can hide beings from Death, and it's mine." He turned to Sam. "In fact, it's my connection to Death that brings me here today. Two weeks ago, I took on the role of Reaper to a rather stubborn soul who seemed determined to hand over the information, even if it meant he had to become a ghost. Any idea who I might be talking about?" Sam drew in a sharp breath and he shared a look with Dean.

"Bobby," he said. It wasn't a question. Harry smiled.

"Bingo. Now the only way I managed to get him to come with me was by promising to summon his soul once he was dead so he could hand over the information himself." Sam nodded.

"So that's why you're here. You're going to summon his soul."

"Exactly."

"What do you need? Herbs? A ritual design on the floor? Some of Bobby's bones?" asked Dean, a bit of disgust colouring his voice as he said the last one. Harry shook his head.

"No, I've got everything I need here, thanks." In his pocket, he turned the resurrection stone three times, closing his eyes and thinking of Bobby and everything he remembered about the hunter. A shifting of movement and two gasps later, he realised he'd succeeded. Nodding to the small group, he told them they had twenty minutes and then walked outside, not wanting to intrude.

Checking his watch, Harry realised it was almost time to finish. He walked back to the house and quietly opened the door. The three were poring over yellowed parchments, Bobby dictating and instructing as he wasn't corporal enough to do things for himself.

"It's time," Harry said, making them all jump slightly. Dean frowned.

"Can't you just give us five more minutes? We're almost done." Harry shook his head sadly.

"I warned you, twenty minutes. If Bobby stays here any longer, it'll damage his soul. The dead aren't supposed to visit the living." Dean looked as if he wanted to object, but Bobby sent him a look.

"Thanks for bringing me here," he said gruffly. Harry smiled.

"A deal's a deal. Ready?" Bobby nodded his head.

"Wait-" Sam said abruptly, but Harry had already dismissed Bobby's spirit. The two hunters turned to the wizard.

"What d'you mean, the dead aren't supposed to visit the living? What about ghosts, then?" Harry shrugged.

"They're not technically dead." Sam gave him a funny look.

"As far as I know, the process of making ghosts involves dying." Harry nodded with an easy smile.

"Sure, but soul only becomes dead when a Reaper has transformed it. Ghosts are living souls without a body. Not dead souls." Dean shrugged.

"What's the difference? They're both dead, aren't they?"

"Completely different, Dean," Harry chided. "Living souls have to be enclosed in flesh, in a body. If they're not, they start losing parts of themselves. That's why demons become what they are, though the torture helps. Their souls are torn and blackened until nothing's left but the desire to hurt. Ghosts are the same. Their essence is lost until all that's left is whatever kept them in the living world to start with. Ultimately, even that goes and they're left as a whisper of being, not even enough to lower the temperature or flicker the lights. Dead souls are supposed to be without a body and so don't deteriorate, but they can't exist in the living world either. So, ghosts are stuck between life and death, not really belonging to either and dead souls, such as Bobby's, are hurt by being in the living world."

An alarm went off and Harry cursed. Hermione was going to kill him. "I'm late! I'll have to catch you boys later." With that, he spun on the spot and disappeared in a sharp crack, leaving Dean and Sam a bit bewildered by the quick turn-around.

"So," Dean said finally, turning to the information Bobby had given them. "Cattle farming, eh?"

A/N Short and hopefully sweet. I've an idea of what my next instalment will be and it's a long one, though I'll need a bit of help with the second part.


	3. Zombie Blues

A/N This takes place in 2007 during Season 2 of Supernatural. Harry is 27 and has been living in Lower Tadfield for a couple of years.

Enjoy!

A young man with short brown hair and serious blue eyes sits down on the couch with a sigh of relief.

"You alright?" A female voice asks from the kitchen.

"It's just been a long day" he calls out.

"Well, at least you're home." A blonde woman comes in and leans down to give him a kiss. "I guess you don't want to go out tonight, then?" The man grimaces. "Do you want me to go get a take out?"

"Kate, you're an angel," the man says fervently. Kate smiles and lifts one hand to run down his cheek affectionately. She steps back.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes, 'k?"

"I love you, Kate." She smiles again.

"I love you too, Terry." He blows her a kiss. A moment later, Terry is alone in the house. He picks up a book from the coffee table in front of the couch. A moment later there is a muffled sound from outside. Terry looks up but when nothing else happens, returns to his book.

When the sound happens again, a thumping, scratching, dragging noise, he frowns and stands up. From his sleeve he produces a thin piece of dark wood which he holds out as if it is a weapon. He walks towards the windows and peers out into the darkness beyond the blinds. Seeing nothing, he shakes his head.

"I must be more tired than I thought," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. Just as he reaches the couch, there is a loud bang at the front door. Terry jumps, startled. He raises his wand again, the wood trembling in his hands. "Who…who's there?" he asks, his voice shaking.

There is another bang and then another, the door trembling in its frame. It sounds as if something is ramming it, something big. Terry backs away, cowering against the opposite wall. His knuckles are white around his wand and his teeth are chattering. The banging crescendos to an agonising height and then stops.

For several minutes, Terry barely breathes. His eyes dart around the room, constantly returning to the seemingly innocent door. Finally, he relaxes slightly, standing up properly and letting his terrified grip loosen. Just as he starts to move away from the wall, the window shatters, something big and pale crashing into the room.

Terry's face screws up in terror and he frantically mouths a spell. A beam of blue shoots out of his wand. There is a scream.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Thump. Dean looked up to see a small pile of notes dumped under his nose. He looked up to see Sam's intent expression. He raised an eyebrow.

"OK, so what are these?" he asked slightly disdainfully.

"You know those encoded notes we found in Dad's PO box?" Dean nodded. "Ash worked them out." Dean took a sheet off the top of the pile. He read it for a moment and then looked up.

"These are Dad's theories on what could kill the demon," he stated.

"Yeah, exactly. Some he's already investigated and discounted. Things like trapping the demon in a container and then submerging it in Holy water. Others, he hasn't had the time to pursue, I'd guess. There's one that's quite promising."

"Yeah? What is it?" Dean was interested.

"There's this guy that Dad has been recommended to several times. He says that in his notes. Apparently, the guy is good at finding things, monsters or weapons. Got a good contacts base, by all accounts."

"And Dad thought he might have something to get rid of the demon?"

"Exactly." Dean spread his hands.

"So why hasn't he checked him out already?" Sam hesitated. "You're going to say something, Sammy-boy, that I don't like, aren't you?"

"Well…."

"Sam." There was a warning note in Dean's voice. Sam sighed and looked away.

"He lives in Britain, OK."

"Britain." Dean's tone is flat.

"Look, Dean. I think this is the most promising lead. Come on, it's not as though we have the colt any longer!"

"Flying. For hours. On end."

"You could take a sleeping pill," Sam said snidely. He sighed. "OK, fine. If you don't want to do this, we won't." He grabbed the notes again and turned away.

"Sam." He turned back. "Do you honestly think this is our best lead?" Dean fixed his eyes on his brother's.

"Yeah. I do." Dean sighed.

"Bet the Brits don't know how to do a proper beer," he grumbled. "And I can't take my baby with me. This is going to suck," he predicted.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The journey by airplane was harrowing for both of them. Luckily Sam had also found some information in their dad's journal that indicated there might be a case to solve nearby their destination. If he hadn't, he wasn't sure either of them would have survived the trip.

"So what could be causing all these disappearances?" Dean questioned thoughtfully. "The victims don't seem to be connected apart from where they disappeared from. Male, female, black, white, rich, poor, married, single. Hell, sometimes it's been one person taken, sometimes more."

"Let's go over the case again, shall we?" Sam suggested.

"So, all these disappearances have happened on the coastline near Leysdown on Sea from local houses. All the signs of a break in and sometimes a struggle but never any evidence or leads. The person or people vanish, never to be heard or seen. This has been happening for the last thirty-one years." Dean sighed, slapping the notes and newspaper clippings down. "Are you sure this is our kind of work? I mean, thirty-one years is possibly just a human gang or something. It's not like it's been going for decades."

"Yeah, but over thirty years with no leads? And the disappearances have been increasing over the last decade."

"So they're good at what they do, and they're getting cocky. Big deal."

"OK, let's imagine they're human. What's the motive? Nothing's ever stolen except whatever was on the kidnapee at the time. Nothing's ever broken apart from what was probably broken in the struggle. No ransom is ever demanded. There's no political thread running through the victims, nor any physical characteristic. Some have lived in the place for their whole lives, others are newcomers." Dean looked thoughtful.

"So there's no motive. What if they're just sickos? Like that family you got taken by a while back. No motive there, either." Sam shook his head.

"I've just got a feeling about this. Plus, why would Dad have marked it as something to look at if he ever got the chance unless he thought it was worth investigating?" Dean shrugged non-committedly.

"If we get the time, fine. But let's not put this above finding this guy and whatever he's got to sell." Sam looked at him strangely.

"You feeling alright? Normally you're the one going for the hunt." Dean shrugged irritably.

"Just don't feel it," he grunted and turned over, signalling the end of the conversation.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Harry was eating breakfast when the owl came. He fed it a piece of bacon and untied the message as it crunched happily.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you are well and are able to take on a case for me. A wizard by the name of Terry Walker was abducted from his house three days ago. One of my teams investigated but was unable to find any leads. The muggle police men are equally baffled, I checked. His girlfriend, Kate Jeffries, is innocent and ignorant in the matter, as far as our methods can divine. She was not in the house at the time of the attack, having stepped out to get some food. _

_When she came back, she found damage to the front door and the window broken inwards. Inside, the living room furniture was damaged and there was a little evidence of spellfire. There was obviously a struggle. The assailant, however, did not use magic, or at least the Unspeakables have been unable to discover any traces of his or her magic. _

_It may be that the attacker was muggle, hence the lack of traces, but I doubt it. I trained with Terry's father and I know that Michael taught his son some tricks of the trade. If Terry had got a chance to use his wand, which from the magic traces, he did, he would have been able to subdue most wizards, let alone muggles. _

_It is not only in my duty as the head of the DMLE that I implore you to investigate, but also as a friend to a grieving father who wants to know whether his son still lives or not. _

_If you will take on the case, I'll send you all the files we have on the circumstances by return owl. _

_Hope you're enjoying living in the new neighbourhood._

_Kingsley. _

Harry considered the case. He would probably take it on. Not only did he want to help a friend, but he didn't really have much to do as it was. A case would be a good diversion. Plus, of course, though he didn't really need it, Kingsley paid well.

Kingsley had been Minister for Magic for several terms; he had made a good one. Eventually though, he had got tired of the political dance and had decided to step down to be the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Since then, Harry had been casually employed when cases such as this came up. He had the time, the inclination and the lack of restrictions to properly investigate. While the DMLE did its best, the fact was that little cases such as this were often pushed to the side because they would take up valuable resources in time and man-power for little visual gain. Far better, the higher ups thought, to have the Aurors chasing down gangs and visible dark wizards.

As a result, they employed detectives like Harry on a case by case basis to sidestep the whole issue of resources. Harry should probably be grateful to the political machinations: it gave him a job which he enjoyed. Becoming an Auror would have probably been fulfilling, but all the kow-towing that had to go on would have driven him mad eventually. Ron was an Auror so Harry had a very good idea of what the daily life as one of the Magical world's peace-keepers was like from his constant moaning when they went to dinner together.

Summoning a quill, Harry quickly scribbled off a note to Kingsley, reassuring the man that he would take the case and would welcome any information available.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This place is a dump," said Dean looking around at the grubby pub they had agreed to meet the guy in.

"It's…quaint," suggested Sam unconvincingly. Dean looked at him scathingly.

"It's a dump," he reiterated, taking a sip of the beer he had bought. He made a face. "I was right. The Brits can't do beer to save their lives."

A man slid into the seat opposite the two. He was wrapped in a long coat with the collar pulled tight around his neck. He darted glances around the room and then relaxed his grip a little, allowing his face to be seen. His face was lined and there was grey at his temples among the black. His skin was a honey colour but still managed to give the impression of ground in dirt.

"You this Weston guy?" Dean asked directly.

"Thass me. Are ye John Winchester's boys?"

"Yeah." The man nodded slowly.

"Heard 'bout his death. John was a good sort. Many'll miss him."

"Did you know him well?"

"Nah. Met him once when I went to the States. Got in a spot o' trouble an' he helped me out." Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"He never mentioned you."

"O' course, we had a falling out. Didn't contact him once I got back here." Sam looked at Dean and rolled his eyes.

"Of course." Sam leaned forwards. "Mr Weston, do you know what we're here for?" The man raised an eyebrow.

"People only talk t' me when they want something. Guess you're not any different." The two brothers looked at each other again and then Sam continued.

"We're looking for a weapon against demons. Specifically for killing demons, not just sending them back to the Pit." The man sucked his teeth.

"Thass a hard un. Demons, they're mighty powerful things on their own territory."

"But surely we'd be hitting them on Earth where most of their power is kept from them?" The man shook his head.

"Nah, to kill a demon, you gotta hit the demon's being, not just the bit of the demon possessing a person. Tha' means you gotta hit the thing in Hell." Dean frowned.

"What about the Colt, then? The gun that can kill anything?" The man nodded.

"I know wha' you mean, son. I was lucky enough as a young man to see tha' gun in action. I don' know whether it's the bullet or the gun itself, but tha' death sent reverberations down the whole being of the demon it was used on. I could feel the echoes of death travelling into another dimension, Hell. Tha' gun was a masterpiece an' there ain't no more like it now it's disappeared." The boys both sank a bit.

"So you don't know anything that could kill a demon?"

"Now did I say tha'?" They perked up.

"You know something?"

"I know someone," he corrected. "He's the local expert on this kinda thing. I'll get in touch."

"Thank you," Sam said.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" Dean followed quickly after.

"Well now, probably a week for him to get my message and respond. Meet me back here on Monday at 12." With that he stood, pulled his coat tight once more and disappeared into the shadows. Dean looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows.

"Weirdo," was his pronouncement. Sam found he couldn't really debate that despite the apparent hypocrisy. "So what're we going to do for the next week?" Sam shrugged.

"Check out Dad's case?" Dean sighed.

"Fine."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I freakin' hate public transport," was Dean's complaint. Sam had no argument. They were finally in Leysdown on Sea having had a hellish journey with misbehaving trains, late buses and unreadable signs. Plus the whole oyster and ticket thing was just confusing.

"Let's find a motel," Sam suggested.

"Hey Sammy, we're in the land of 'biscuits' and 'roads' and 'hotels'. No motels round here." Sam glared at him.

"You know what I mean." Dean grinned and whacked him on the back of his head.

"Lighten up. Look, there's a 'hotel'," he said in as British an accent as he could manage.

At the counter, Dean started flirting with the receptionist. Sam rolled his eyes. Typical. Then, hearing a question about anything odd happening around 'these parts', he tuned in. The girl shook her head.

"Not really. Just that man down Manor Way who disappeared almost a week ago. Otherwise, Leysdown's pretty boring. Particularly in these autumn months. Weather's pretty awful too." She wrinkled her nose. "If I were you, I'd spend my time in London, not this dump." Dean flashed her a salacious smile.

"Dump? When it has such beautiful girls in it?" She blushed.

"Here, room 22. Second floor." Her face still crimson, she shoved the keys into his hands and retreated behind her computer screen. Dean looked at Sam with a 'I'm too good for words' expression. Sam looked back at Dean with a 'I can't believe you did that...wait, yes I can'. They went to the room.

"So, that's where we're going to start."

"We need an address first," pointed out Dean.

"No probs." Sam got out his laptop and quickly googled the newspaper which had reported the man's disappearance. "OK, so the guy's name's Terry Walker. Has a girlfriend called Kate Jeffries. They recently moved here. Last Tuesday Kate stepped out to get some food and came back to find her living room in ruins, the window broken inwards, signs of a struggle and no boyfriend. She reported it to the police and is still living there."

"No crime scene cordon?" Sam shook his head slowly.

"Not so far as I can see. I think the police swept the place clean that first night and then let her back in the next day." Dean frowned.

"That's odd. Normally they'd dedicate more time to sweeping the crime scene than just an evening." Sam shrugged.

"Well it's not as though someone was murdered." Dean shrugged but didn't appear entirely convinced.

"Got an address?"

"Yeah, 32 Manor Way." Dean nodded decisively.

"Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry approached the house that Kingsley had directed him to. To his surprise, the door was already open, a woman – Kate, presumably – talking to two young men in suits. He slowly and quietly walked down the garden path, trying to feel out the situation.

"…don't see what business it is of yours. I've already told you we don't have insurance!"

"Ma'am, please. Are you sure your husband didn't take out insurance without your knowledge? It seems a little odd for our records to be wrong."

"Look, can you just go away!" Harry stepped forwards and was noticed by all the woman, then one of the men. The other man was quickly informed of his presence by a quick nudge in the side.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked authoritatively. The woman sighed.

"Who are you now?" she asked plaintively.

"Harry Potter. I sent you an…a message earlier." The woman's eyes lit up.

"Oh Mr Potter! Please, come in. Thank you so much for taking on this case. I know your success rate is really high." Harry smiled at her,

"I do my best." His expression turned more serious. "However, there is no guarantee that even if I find out who took Mr Walker, I will find him alive." When she beckoned him in, he stepped through the other two men and into the house. On the threshold he paused and turned. "I think you must have made an error here, gentlemen. If Miss Jeffries says there is no insurance, I see no need for insurance men to harass her." He smiled pleasantly. "Good day, gentlemen." Shutting the door, he went in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So what can you remember of the night Mr Walker disappeared?" Harry asked Kate gently, watching her reactions with sharp eyes.

"Terry was tired. He'd just come home from work. He worked at a lawyer's firm. He was training to be a l-lawyer." She sniffed and Harry sent her a sympathetic smile. "We were planning to go out that night for dinner, but he was so tired, so I suggested a take out. I went out to the local Indian place and got some curry. I swear it was no more than fifteen minutes before I got back and…and Terry was…gone." She was crying in earnest now and Harry conjured her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and regained control of herself.

"What did the room look like?"

"Like something big had been banging about in it. The coffee table was smashed and so was one of the chairs. There were rips in the couch and s-some b-bl-blood on the cushioned chair. The window was broken and the door was damaged."

"What did the door look like?"

"Like…like something had been bashing it. The worst damage was about shoulder height. There it was splintered and there was a dent. The hinges were buckled and the lock almost busted out of shape; I could hardly get it open!" Harry nodded. That narrowed it down slightly.

"Excuse me for asking this, Miss Jeffries, but how much blood was there in the room?" She bit her lip and sniffed a bit.

"Not much. A bit on the cushioned chair and a bit on the wall. I didn't see any more."

"I see. Did you see anything odd outside? Any tracks? Marks on trees, bushes etc?" She shook her head.

"I haven't really been outside since. I've mostly been at my parents' house. I was just here to pick up some bits."

"And no other room in the house was affected?"

"No. Just the living room. And the door."

"I haven't come across any reports of what neighbours have said. Were they aware of what happened?" Kate shook her head.

"We had soundproofing on the house and notice-me-not wards on the property. None of my neighbours are magical so they would have been deterred by the wards."

"What other wards do you have up?"

"Just the normal anti-pest ward and a couple of defence ones. I don't really know. They've collapsed now, anyway, since Terry was the one who put them up. He hadn't got the time to anchor them or something before he…." She broke off with another sob. Harry hadn't really expected anything different: such wards were standard practice for a wizard home in a non-magical area.

"Did Mr Walker report seeing anything before his disappearance? Hearing anything? Having nightmares?" Kate considered it.

"No. Not that I know of."

"Right. Thank you very much for your cooperation, Miss Jeffries. Rest assured that finding your boyfriend, preferably alive, is my highest priority." She looked stricken at his 'preferably alive' statement, but Harry had found that in general, false hope was worse than no hope at all. He stood up and she got up too, clutching the handkerchief, face pale. "I will inform you if I find anything conclusive. If you remember anything, anything at all, please owl me." She nodded. "Will you be here after today?"

"No." She shook her head for more emphasis. "I'm selling this house as soon as I can. My parents live in Manchester, 14 Holocombe Close. We have floo." Harry smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Jeffries. I wish you the best, painful though it might be at the moment." She nodded but said nothing more as he left the house.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Can't hear a damn thing."

"They must have soundproofing."

"Pretty good soundproofing." Dean and Sam were trying to listen into the conversation between this 'Harry Potter' and Kate Jeffries while keeping out of sight, but weren't having much luck. Dean started wandering off while Sam tried to read their lips.

"Hey Sam, check this out." Sam turned away from the window just in time to miss Harry conjuring the handkerchief and crouched down near his brother. There were long marks in the dirt and the bushes showed bruising.

"Something's been dragged," he said thoughtfully.

"Something heavy." Their eyes met.

"So whatever it is, is strong enough to drag a decent sized man, but not lift one." Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Unless it wasn't thinking about leaving tracks?"

"Maybe." They looked around a little more. Then Sam let out a little 'huh'.

"What is it?" Sam gestured to the marks. The human footprints. Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Maybe it was humans after all."

"Who goes around in bare feet, Dean?" Dean got out his EMF detector and pointed at the tracks. It went wild, the needle swinging to the far right. Their eyes met.

"It might be human, but it's not _just_ human." They scoured the ground a bit more. Dean thought he caught something on the wind, something bad. He sniffed around a bit.

"Hey, Sam. Over here." He pulled back a few leaves and revealed a small pile of decomposing flesh the size of his hand.

"That's seriously gross, man," Sam told him, covering his nose.

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered. Frowning, he reached down and touched some pale, grainy substance which was around the flesh and on it. He rubbed it and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the dead meat smell.

"Sulphur?" Sam suggested. Dean shook his head.

"No, sand." Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Dean gestured for Sam to follow him down. The man, Harry Potter, was leaving. Looking at each other, the brothers silently agreed to follow.

Of course, on a miserable October day where few people were out on the streets, that was easier said than done.

The man led them down a few streets and then smaller streets. The houses got sparser and sparser until there was no one in sight except way back along the road.

"I'm getting a really bad feeling about this, Dean," Sam murmured in his brother's ear."

"Join the club," was his short reply. The man went around the bend where he was blocked from their view by a steep bank and when they rounded the corner, he had vanished.

"Awesome. We've lost Mr Spooky now." Sam was too busy trying to cover every angle to pay attention. Suddenly, there was a flash of red light. Dean went down without a sound.

"Dean!" Sam whirled around, his gun out and ready to shoot. Unfortunately, he turned his back to the wrong part of the road and he was hit by the stunner too.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry stepped out from the invisibility cloak and shook his head. Amateurs. He searched the two men and came up with a surprising amount of weaponry, more than was legal in the country, but no wands. Muggles, then. Not surprising considering the excuse they had been using to try to get in Jeffries' house.

Well, muggle law wasn't really Harry's area. They weren't wizards so didn't fall under his purview. He didn't want them mucking with his case, though. Considering the matter, he decided to obliviate them. The good thing about the memory charm was that it allowed the caster to plant a few suggestions about how the brain should fill the blanks if the caster did it properly. In his career, Harry had become very good at the memory charm.

"Obliviate. You will forget all about Harry Potter, Kate Jeffries and Terry Walker. You have been visiting here as tourists and will be going home tomorrow morning." He quickly cast the enervate charm and then, before they could properly wake up, cast a deliberately underpowered sleeping charm. Then, with a crack, he apparated away before they could wake up again.

Woken by a sharp sound, rather like a car backfiring, Dean opened his eyes groggily.

"Where am I?" he muttered. "Oo, my head!" he said painfully as he tried to sit up. "What did I drink last night?" Slowly his memories filtered in. He had gone to a bar with Sam, chatted up a few girls, all to celebrate going back home. For some reason, he had had enough of England. Though, he didn't really remember what had brought him here. Them here. Sam!

He looked wildly around. The heart which had been hovering in his mouth dropped back to its rightful place when he saw his brother's prone form lying next to him.

"Hey Sammy," he shouted in Sam's ear. "Quit lying around! We're going home." Sam shot up with a jerk, almost bashing his head into Dean's. "Oi, Sleeping Beauty, watch that wooden head of yours."

"Home? Why're we going home? We haven't finished the job yet," Sam said, twisting onto his knees, expression confused. Dean frowned, equally confused.

"What job?" Sam stared at him.

"You know, the one with the break in, disappearance and creepy man?" Dean's frown deepened.

"I think you had a bit too much to drink last night. Sure, I can't remember much, but at least I'm not delusional." Sam staggered to his feet and Dean followed him up. He shook his head.

"No, this doesn't make any sense! Wait." He stopped stock still. "That man! He must have done something to you. He knocked us out!"

"Whoa, whoa, Sammy boy. What're you talking about?" Dean demanded, putting up his hands to calm his brother down. Sam quickly gave him a run through of what they had been doing since they came to England. By the end of it, Dean was frowning.

"It does make sense," he admitted. "But flying bolts of red light? Sure you haven't been watching too many Starwars films when you're hammered?" Sam glared and him and marched over to exhale over his face.

"Dude! What the hell was that for?" Dean squawked, waving the air away. "Your breath stinks! Chew on a breath mint." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Do you smell any alcohol?"

"Don't think I _could_ smell any alcohol over the stench," Dean muttered. When Sam glared at him again he conceded. "Fine. No, I don't. What's that meant to mean."

"If I was sufficiently intoxicated to start imagining things, you'd still smell the alcohol on my breath. You can't smell it, ergo I can't have had enough to be delusional. It's weird, but then what do we deal with that isn't weird?"

"Who the hell says 'ergo'?" Dean muttered mutinously. He sighed. "So if we take your magic mojo thing to be true, we need to go research it. Sounds like this case's not as cut and dried as we hoped." Sam agreed and they returned to the hotel.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Four hours later it was dark and they were a bit further on. Dean had been researching the case while Sam had been trying to find anything that would match what the man was. On a mutually agreed coffee break, they shared information.

"OK, hit me," Dean told Sam, relaxing with a coffee and Danish pastry. "These are really good you know. Sure you don't want to go out and get one?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"_No_, thank you. My brain doesn't require my stomach to be constantly full in order to work."

"Ooh, burn!"

"Shut up. Right, I haven't actually got much. Some crack-pot sightings which are only believable because so many have seen them and said pretty much the same thing. A person or several people in long, medieval style robes carrying short sticks which shoot out bolts of colour. Some people say the bolts kill, others say they destroy. We know they can cause unconsciousness and were able to wipe your memory and implant new ones. That's a common theme, too. Sometimes, the person who posted the sighting was with someone and the next time they saw that person, the other had forgotten all about it."

"No way of countering them? No folklore? Do you even know what they are?" Sam sighed.

"No, no and a big, fat, nada. The common theory is that they're like warlocks, witches, wizards, sorcerers etc."

"Great."

"What did you find out."

"Well, I looked into the various cases that have happened over the years here. Same MO all over: single person disappears. Their house is broken into. Most of the time it's a short time frame. About fifteen minutes. Often signs of a struggle. Pretty much always put down to robbers. But check this out." He pulled out a map of the area on which he'd put crosses. Sam narrowed his eyes and then looked up at Dean in shock.

"They're all in a semi-circle." Dean smirked.

"Exactly. And judging by the sand we found…"

"…it's something to do with the beach." Dean stood up and started packing bits into a bag. "Dean, where're we going?"

"To the beach, Sammy. Where else?"

"Come on Dean, it's almost ten o'clock. We don't know what we're dealing with. This isn't the time to go beach-combing. Let's wait until the morning." Dean wavered and then set the bag down.

"Fine. But we'll be up with the dawn, OK?" Sam smirked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ten thirty the next morning, Sam was trying to wake up a somnolent Dean.

"G'way," he muttered, batting at Sam's hand.

"Come on Dean. Get up. We've got a case," Sam told him, rolling his eyes.

"Don' wanna." Sam sighed and then smirked as he got an idea. "What?!" Dean exclaimed, sitting up in bed to Sam's snickering, icy water pouring down his neck. He glared at his brother. "I'm _so_ gonna to get you for this," he promised darkly.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, we've got a case to solve." Still grumbling Dean went into the bathroom to get a towel and was ready in in under fifteen minutes.

Soon, they were trudging along the beach which was the centre of the semicircle, EMF out and scanning the walls.

"So what do you think it is? Got any lore? Local legends? I suppose we should ask around."

"Well, while you were getting your 'beauty sleep', which you really need, by the way, I was asking around." Dean glared at him.

"Funny. So, what d'you find?" Sam shook his head.

"Nothing. No local monsters, no suspicious deaths at sea for ages, no ships wrecked nearby. On the supernatural scale, this town's pretty dead."

"Apart from the recent break ins."

"Apart from those," Sam agreed. "I think the flesh we found was a clue, though. No way is that a spirit. Plus it's not really a spirit's MO." Dean frowned.

"So you don't think it's from our disappearing man?" Sam shook his head.

"It's only been a few days since the incident and temperatures have been pretty low. If it was from our victim, it wouldn't be that decomposed. No, I think it's from the creature who took him."

"A zombie, you think?" Sam shrugged.

"Could be. There are a fair number of flesh-eaters out there, most of them corporal."

"Awesome." They walked in silence until the end of the beach. "Nothing here." Sam sat down on an outcropping of rock and Dean recognised the thoughtful pose. "I'm going to try and catch a couple of crabs." Sam just nodded absentmindedly. Dean shrugged and started poking about. He found a few rock-pools and played a bit with some very fast shrimps.

When he next looked up, he realised he had climbed over the rock outcropping and was on a completely different beach, one that he thought would probably be inaccessible at high tide. Looking around, he frowned. This was a desolate place. Black cliffs, dark sand, lots of rocks. He wandered around a bit and found a small cave in the side of one cliff. It looked shallow, but just as he was about to abandon it, he noticed a smear of red, well, red-brown on the back wall.

Taking out his EMF detector, his eyebrows went up as it went wild.

"Bingo," he murmured.

Five minutes later, Sam was there with him, inspecting the wall. Sam shook his head.

"There's nothing. Sure, it's definitely got something going on, but there's no sort of opening, no carvings, no debris around the entrance, which is suspicious anyway – something like this should be a magnet for driftwood, and no clue as to what it is." Dean who had been watching the rest of the beach over Sam's shoulder suddenly gripped it.

"Is that who I think it is?" Sam looked up and stiffened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

After obliviating the two men, Harry went back to his hotel. Well, first things first, he needed to research the area. A few hours later, his eyes narrowed as he came to the same conclusions Sam had.

"Oh no," he breathed, horrified. "Don't tell me…." Groaning, he put his head in his hands. "This is my fault. I should have come back here sooner!" Grabbing his wand, he paused as he realised darkness had crept up on him. Not the time to go hunting these particular creatures.

Sitting back in the chair, a sudden tapping at the window made him jump. He looked up and saw an owl waiting impatiently to be let in. He opened the window and the owl fluttered in, dropped the letter and then fluttered back out. Harry raised his eyebrows at its unfriendly departure.

The letter was from an Underground contact. One thing about this business was that it got him into touch with the most shady, unsavoury characters he could ever hope to avoid. And the worst thing was when they were fighting on his side. This particular contact wasn't so bad. He was an information man, the person who, if they didn't know the answer, would probably know who to put you in touch with to get it. Part of the agreement when getting information was to thereafter be a contact he could put people into touch with. With Harry's career of hunting the unusual suspects in otherwise unexplainable cases, he was a popular person to ask when odd things were happening.

_Doc_ (Weston's nickname for Harry. The detective still didn't know exactly how he had achieved it.)

_Got two young American blokes needing to ask you something about your job. They're after a certain lower friend. Don't suppose you'd know how to get in touch with them. Recent family deaths have made them want to really speed up the contact. Life thing, you see._

_Name of Dean and Sam Winchester. Told them to be back Monday at noon. Hope you can make it. _

_Weston_

Harry frowned. Weston was always paranoid even when he didn't need to be and any letter from him read like a riddle. 'Lower friend'. Harry would guess that was a demon. From the rest of it, Harry would guess these two wanted to either summon a demon or kill it. Judging from the fact Weston knew Harry would never give information on how to summon a demon to make a deal with it, he would guess the men wanted to kill it. Sure. He'd get this job wrapped up and then go and meet the two.

The next morning, he waited until the tide was going out to go to the beach. If it was high tide, he would have to swim and he'd had enough of that the first time he visited this place.

After clambering over the rocks which blocked the entrance onto the beach, he started striding to the cave. Much to his surprise, he wasn't the first one there. The two men he had obliviated the day before were poking around the entrance to the cave. Wandering up to them, he smiled pleasantly.

"Nice day for a walk, isn't it?" The taller man had stood and was half-shielding the shorter one. They had both got guns out. Harry raised an eyebrow and discretely took a hold of his wand handle.

"Cut the crap, Potter," the taller one said, pulling back the safety on his gun. "Who are you?"

"You already know my name which is more than I know about you." The shorter one started moving out of the cave, his gun fixed on Harry. Soon, Harry was being targeted from the front and the side.

"Why should we tell you anything when you knocked us out and wiped our memories?"

"Well I obviously didn't do a good enough job considering you have them back," Harry pointed out. "Look, if you're going to kill me, you might as well tell me your names." They glanced at each other.

"I'm Dean, he's Sam," the shorter one said, nodding to the taller one. Harry's eyes narrowed as he remembered the letter. Two young American blokes. Looking for demons. Sam and Dean.

"Winchester, by any chance?" Harry asked shrewdly. Their eyes went wide and their fingers tightened on the trigger.

"How do you know that?" asked Dean hoarsely. Harry nodded in satisfaction.

"Well, I got a letter this morning saying a Sam and Dean Winchester were looking for information on demons. Weston mean anything to you?" They looked at each other.

"_You're_ Weston's contact?" Harry half-smiled.

"If you blow my brains out, you'll never know." When they hesitated, he sighed. "Look, if what I suspect is true, we're on the same side, working towards the same thing." Slowly, they lowered their guns, but didn't put them away.

"So what do you think's true?" Relaxing a bit now the guns were not quite as dangerous as they were, Harry plonked himself onto a rock.

"I'm a detective of the criminal supernatural. That's my job. That's what I'm paid to do. I've come across others before, people with no magic who, for some reason or other, know about the things which hide in the dark and under beds, kill and destroy people and places. I reckon you're looking for a demon to kill it, hence Weston sending me a note. If you're here, you're probably looking at the same case I am. Am I right?"

"The case of the disappearing people?" Harry nodded. "Yeah, we're here for that." Harry nodded again.

"Thought so." He stood up and dusted the sand off his trousers. "Well, you can go away knowing the case is solved, then." The brothers frowned.

"Wait, what?" Sam asked.

"No way are we leaving before getting the monsters," Dean agreed.

"Do you even know what we're dealing with?" Harry asked incredulously.

"We know it's something corporal that's strong." Harry scoffed.

"Great start, boys. You're just going to try to get in there and face them without even knowing how to kill them?" Dean shrugged.

"It's worked before." Harry shook his head.

"I wouldn't believe you except I was exactly the same as a teenager. You're way out of your depth here."

"So tell us," Sam said in frustration. "If you know more than we do about this, why don't we share information." Harry sighed.

"Why don't you just go back to London and I'll meet you on Monday and talk about demons?"

"Because people are getting hurt," Dean said, a final note in his voice. "Because _our_ job is to protect people from the things they don't even know exist." Harry bit his lip. He really wanted to just knock them out and keep them safe, but he knew he couldn't do that. And, like it or not, there were a lot of the things in there and he could probably do with some help, even from muggles.

"Fine," he said finally. "Come on, sit down. I'll give you a quick overview." Once seated, he looked at them seriously. "What do you know about witches and wizards?" Dean frowned.

"Witches? People, usually women, who conduct black rituals, summon demons, kill people or give themselves boosts through using magic." Harry nodded his head.

"OK, so you don't know. Those kind of witches don't really deserve the name. The real witches and wizards can directly use magic with a focus. They're, we're, born, not made. No non-magical person can become a witch or wizard with enough study, and magical people will use magic without even realising what it is. We use wands to focus the magic and control it." He showed them a flash of his wand.

"The stories…" Sam breathed. Harry raised an eyebrow at him but went on.

"Now, there is a world completely separate from the non-magical one. It's a world that's hidden pretty well and protected by spells which wipe memories, such as I used on you. I don't know why it worked on you, but I've never been particularly good at obliviating."

"So what relevance does this have to the case?" Dean asked.

"There was a wizard, a powerful wizard. In the magical world there are those who want to kill the muggles, that is, the non-magical humans, and those who want to protect them. This wizard wanted to kill them. He raised an army and created civil war in our world between the two sides. He had certain items he wanted to protect. One of them was hidden here."

"So it's the item that's causing the deaths?" Sam asked, frowning.

"No, I'll get to that in a moment. Basically, this wizard put a lot of protections in place. When I came here fifteen years ago to destroy the artefact, I barely escaped with my life. My companion was not so lucky. And we both could use magic." He leaned forwards to impress the seriousness of the situation on the two. "The main difficulty, and the one that has been causing the disappearances, is a horde of inferius." Sam frowned.

"Isn't inferius just another name for zombies?" Harry shrugged.

"Fundamentally the same, but different in all the ways that matter." Dean chuckled.

"Oh, zombies. Is that all? I thought you were going to bring out the big guns from what you were saying. Look, Mr Porter, or whatever your name is, we've faced zombies before. They're not _that_ hard to kill. Just pin them in their gravesite and Bob's your uncle." Harry didn't smile.

"Pin them in their gravesites. Yeah, great idea except for one problem. They don't have gravesites." Sam frowned.

"But then what about the ritual to bring them back to life? What about the carvings in the roof of the coffin?" Harry shook his head.

"Not needed. Inferius are raised through a dark magic ritual performed by a wizard. They are unlike other zombies in that they are only slightly more intelligent than a dog. This means that they can't be reasoned with. They have no morals, no real concept of language and no emotions. They are, however, extremely fast, extremely strong and pretty much immune to anything you can throw at them. The only way to kill them for good is to chop them into piece and then burn the chunks. Note, even if you cut off a hand, it will still try to pull itself to you until it's been burned. Salt does not affect them at all, nor does silver, iron or any other tried and tested method against the supernatural."

"So we have to throw fire on them? Use a whole load of gas and set light to the bastards?" Dean was serious for once.

"Normally, yes, but this lot? Let me explain the layout of the cave. You enter in by spilling blood on the rock. You walk through a narrow passageway which then opens out into a huge cavern. Most of the cavern is a lake except for an island in the centre where the artefact used to be. The inferius live in the lake. See the problem?" Dean screwed up his face.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed. "Spraying them with gasoline won't work…"

"…because it'll be repelled by the water," finished Sam. Harry nodded.

"Exactly."

"So why don't we just collapse the rocks over the entrance? Trap them in there?" Sam asked. Harry shrugged.

"Possible, but if what I suspect is true, it won't do a thing to help."

"What're you talking about?" Harry stood up and walked over to the entrance, casting a couple of charms on the brown smear.

"As I thought." He turned to the other two. "The last person to bleed on this door was my companion, fifteen years ago. Besides, being the undead, the fluids inside inferi probably wouldn't count as blood anyway."

"So if the zombies aren't getting out this way…"

"There must be another entrance." Harry nodded.

"And it's probably underwater somewhere. I reckon the cave was naturally formed by underground water running to the sea." Dean groaned.

"Awesome. So what? We have to lure them out?"

"Something like that," Harry agreed vaguely, "but you won't be doing it."

"No way!" protested Sam. "This is our case as much as yours!" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, if you look at it logically, this is my country and I'm actually getting paid for it. You're just here for information." Dean glared at Harry.

"People are getting hurt. That makes it our job."

"Come on," Harry said in exasperation. "You're muggles. I'm a wizard. I can do magic. If the going gets rocky, I can apparate out." Seeing their looks of confusion, he quickly clarified with 'teleporting'. "What if you got caught in the fire? Or covered in inferi? You'd be dead meat! Just another inferius to swell their ranks."

"Doesn't matter," replied Dean, his tone final. Short of knocking us out and tying us up, we're coming in there and if you don't let us in on the planning, we'll probably mess it up, too." Harry eyed them in a way that told the Winchesters he was considering the 'knocking out and tying up' option. He sighed.

"Fine. I'd be a bit hypocritical if I argued against someone else having a hero-complex. But I would suggest we go back to my hotel room. It's a bit warmer than this beach." Dean and Sam shared a glance, then the eldest Winchester gave a short nod.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N This is where I need your help. I know what needs to happen after the destruction of the inferius, but I really can't imagine how the Winchesters and Harry will conduct the burning of the zombies. Any ideas will be welcome!


	4. Zombie Blues Part 2

A/N Thank you to Voldy's Pink Teddy for the suggestion of the fire spell and thank you to the guest who suggested the use of the alkali metals. To be honest, that was the idea that got me going.

Enjoy:

Zombie Blues Part 2

They returned to Harry's hotel room, which, as it happened, was only the floor above Dean and Sam's.

"So," Sam started, his eyes narrowed and Dean playing with his gun on the bed, listening carefully. "The inferi can only be ganked by burning?"

"Complete combustion, yes," Harry said, nodding. "The issue is that if it's not burnt fast enough, and the fire goes out, it can recover."

"And considering these sons of bitches live in water, that fire'll go out pretty damn quick," Dean finished. Harry nodded again.

"So we need some kind of fire which won't go out from the fire. Haven't you got some sort of magic for that?" Sam asked, looking to Harry. The wizard grimaced.

"Not that can be conjured. There used to be a spell for Hephaestus' fire but it got lost with so many others when the Library of Alexandria burnt down. That was supposed to have been able to burn, even in the presence of water. Everything else gets put out sooner than we would need it." They thought for a moment.

"What about covering the surface of the water with oil or naphtha and setting light to it, burning those bastards as they get out?" Dean suggested. Harry shook his head.

"Inferi are intelligent enough to wait for it to burn out first, maybe even go around the back way."

"What if we set up a feed for them to get covered with flaming oil as they move down the passageway?" asked Sam. Harry considered it and then shook his head.

"It's a good idea, but they'll keep moving until it burns their hearts as that's where the magic is anchored. In that time, we'll probably be killed. Plus, they might have enough sense to jump back in the water.

"So, to get this straight, their hearts need to be burned first, and then the rest of them?" Harry nodded. There was silence as they considered it.

"Shotgun shells!" Dean said suddenly. The other two turned to look at him quizzically. "Shoot the suckers in their hearts with something that'll burn and then set fire to their remains." Sam bounced off that idea.

"Alkali metals!" he exclaimed. Harry frowned.

"What are the alkali metals?"

"You know, sodium, potassium and so on? Really reactive, explosively reactive, to water?" Dean told him. Harry shook his head.

"Tell me more. I didn't exactly have a typical education after eleven." Sam got into lecture mode.

"The alkali metals, group two in the periodic table, are highly reactive, as Dean said, to water. They have to be stored in oil or they'll start oxidising as soon as they meet the air which has water molecules in it. They are so reactive they aren't found as elements in nature: they have to be separated by electrolysis. Before electrolysis was invented, sodium used to be known as soda and potassium as potash." At the last sentence, Harry, whose eyes had started to glaze, perked up.

"Now I've heard of soda and potash! They're used in several potions, including a few poisons."

"Potions," Dean repeated incredulously. "What next? Do you fly on broomsticks too?" he asked sarcastically.

"Actually, yes," Harry replied absentmindedly, not taking any notice of Dean's face-palm: he was too busy searching inside a bag that looked decidedly bigger on the inside than the out. Well, if the fact half the wizard's body could fit in it was anything to go by, that was. "Here we are," he told the two hunters, flicking through the pages and pointing triumphantly at one. Crowding round, Dean and Sam noticed it was a recipe, though with rather odd ingredients.

"Eye of a newt?" Sam muttered as if he didn't believe what his eyes were seeing. "Tongue of a salamander, pickled in stewed moon petals?" Harry waved a hand dismissively.

"You should try having to pickle flobberworms' guts for two hours. That was my potion's teacher's favourite detention for those he didn't like. Which was most of the school. Here, see, soda." Sam raised an eyebrow. "What?" asked Harry defensively. "The wizarding world is typically two centuries in the past compared to the muggles. With magic, there wasn't the need for the developments that the muggles came up with." Dean cut the debate off as soon as he saw the interested look Sam had.

"So what's this potion for?" Harry scanned the text.

"Clearing blocked drains." Dean was disappointed.

"It's not particularly explosive, then?" Harry shook his head.

"But what if the soda was replaced with caesium?" asked Sam, a light entering his eyes. "Since Frankium's radioactive, caesium's the most explosive possibility out of the group." Harry shook his head.

"I don't know. I was pretty hopeless at school with potions and haven't got much better since. But I do know someone who is." Reaching into the bag again, he pulled out a mirror.

"What, you need to primp before going to visit?" asked Dean sarcastically.

"No, remember, it's magic. Hermione." Just about to ask why Harry was saying a girl's name, the Winchesters leapt back as a face appeared in the mirror, a woman's face.

"Harry?" The voice was female as well.

"Hi, Hermione. I've got a quick question, if you don't mind."

"Sure. I'm on lunch now, anyway. Are you on a hunt?" Harry nodded.

"You know the common drain-clearing potion?" Seeing her nod, he continued. "Would I be able to replace the soda with caesium without the whole potion being de-stabilised?" She frowned at him.

"Yes, you could, but you'd destroy your plumbing." He smiled at her.

"We were thinking more about destroying inferi." Her expression demanded elaboration. "I've got a nest of inferi to clear out. There's another pair of hunters accidentally on the same case and we've teamed up. They suggested shooting the inferi in the heart with an alkali metal." Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Why not just use a fire whip?

"Too wet. Remember where I got the locket? Where Dumbledore got poisoned?" Her face showed dawning comprehension.

"That sounds a good idea, then. But the explosion won't actually set fire to the inferi, you know." Harry twisted his mouth in thought.

"We'll figure it out. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime. But remember, that potion will be really sensitive to water. Even touching the air for too long will make it go off." Harry nodded and the mirror went blank.

"So, we have our potion," Harry said, turning to look at the hunters. He blinked in surprise when he saw two gun muzzles pointing at him. Carefully putting the mirror down, he raised his hand up in surrender. "OK, what's going on? I thought we'd got past this stage."

"You have a spirit trapped inside a mirror," Dean accused him darkly. "That's so not right!" Harry frowned.

"I haven't got a spirit trapped anywhere. The mirror's a communication device. Think of your mobiles, only with picture as well as sound and no monthly pay-plan." Sam lowered his gun though Dean wasn't so trusting.

"That was a real person? Another wand-witch?" Harry nodded.

"Hermione's been one of my best friends since I was eleven. She's married to my other best friend and works in our government."

"OK, good, 'cause having a hot spirit chick trapped in a mirror would be sick and wrong." Dean finally lowered his gun, then a lecherous expression crossed his face. "Though think of the benefits... Ouch!" The last was because of Sam's sharp elbow. Dean glared at his younger brother, then turned back to Harry. "So, you say we have our potion, and, for the record, could you guys have been any _more_ cliché?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, to sum up, this potion will dismember the inferi, but won't actually set fire to them so, potentially, they could regenerate. It would take a lot of time, though."

"So we'll fill our shotgun shells with the potion, but have to work out another way to set fire to them." Harry nodded and silence fell for a few moments. Harry got an idea and looked up, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Here's the plan….."

The next morning three adult humans trudged down to the beach, one wizard, armed with his wand, and two muggles, armed with highly explosive potion-filled shotgun shells. Harry took out a small, sharp knife and splattered a little blood on the doorway, quickly healing himself as the rock shifted aside. They stepped inside and, by the doorway, Harry started drawing an odd symbol on the ground.

"Remind me what that's for?" Dean asked idly.

"It'll attract the inferi more than just the prospect of fresh meat will: we want to get all of them, after all." Dean nodded.

"Gonna let a little light on the subject?" Harry sent up a couple of witch-light balls: they wouldn't go out until he put them out, but he'd be able to use other spells as well. The only reason they weren't used as much as lumos was because lumos was mobile and more like a spotlight compared to the balls' ambient light. But for this purpose, it was perfect. He activated the rune and they all tensed as they heard a wet slap from down the passage. Dean and Sam slunk off to the side, taking a little shelter in the small alcoves that were everywhere along the wall.

"Got your portkeys?" Harry checked. They nodded at him, tense. They didn't have to wait long before the first inferius came into sight. The sharp report of Dean's shotgun was heard and the inferius staggered back. The three watched anxiously until the inferius exploded, the shell having leaked enough potion to do the job. Harry summoned the remains closer to him and set fire to them: they didn't want to scare the other inferi off with a wall of fiery body bits. They shared a quick grin of triumph before starting the process again with the next inferius.

It seemed timeless, Harry thought in the midst of the explosions, the shots, the fiery infernos. The inferi just kept coming, more and more each time. Dean and Sam had fallen back a little, needing more space to shoot into the ranks. They were barely managing to reload in time to prevent a messy death, sometimes. Harry was reassured they could get away if necessary, but he wasn't sure they would think of their portkeys if it got too late.

When there were no more inferi to take down, it came as a bit of a shock. The three staggered outside, welcoming the fresh air, and the dry warmth of the sun. Out in daylight they looked pretty frightful. Harry was covered in gore, having misdirected his summoning spell a couple of times and got showered with bits of corpse. The other two weren't much better. They had some unmentionable stains which would ensure the clothes' disposal as soon as possible. Both Dean and Sam had scratches: Sam even had a bite-mark on one hand that Harry took a quick look at and had to disinfect from where an inferius had got too close.

"Please tell me we got them all!" Dean begged Harry. The wizard wearily cast an auror-level spell that gave a vague impression of how much dark magic was around. There were traces: inferi were not exactly grey, but not nearly enough to indicate even one active inferius.

"Seems like it. I'll check back here in a couple of days just to make sure none of them have started regenerating, but otherwise, good job!" He smiled at them thankfully. "I'm really glad we teamed up. I'm not sure what I would have done without someone backing me up. There were just too many to deal with alone." Sam and Dean shrugged.

"It's what we do," Dean dismissed.

"Tell you what," suggested Sam. "You give us the information about how to kill a demon and we'll call it even." Harry nodded.

"I can do that. But….let's get cleaned up first!"

Settled comfortably in the Winchesters' room, the brothers prepared to grill Harry.

"So you're the 'demon expert' are you?" started Dean bluntly. Harry breathed in heavily.

"People call me that."

"Are they right?"

"In the course of my job, as in the course of your job, it's inevitable that I'll come across demons and their creatures. Almost more so in the Wizarding world, seeing as demon summoning rituals are so very common. Anything from a basic blood exchange for a favour to the full blown selling of a soul." Dean frowned.

"Wait, people actually sell their souls to those things?" Harry nodded. Sam interrupted before he could speak.

"Dad did, remember." Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Your father summoned a demon?" Dean looked away. Sam glanced at him, then returned his focus to the wizard.

"We're pretty sure he did. The clues…well, Dean was dying and then miraculously got better. Not long after that, Dad dropped dead. No explanation. Then, demons since have mentioned seeing him in Hell, though we're not sure they were telling the truth." Harry nodded.

"Yes, well that is one result of selling one's immortal soul to demons. Another, more troublesome pact is where the demon has fulfilled its side of the bargain and therefore owns the human's soul outright, but decides to use him or her as an Earthly slave rather than claiming the soul immediately."

"They can do that?" Dean was horrified.

"Unfortunately. And, as the human is not in any way possessed by the demon, there is no reaction to Holy water, nor can the influence be broken by an exorcism."

"So how can we stop the buggers if we come across them?"

"The human will carry a sign on their body. Usually over the heart, but it can also be on the back of the neck or around the wrists and neck. That's for identification. Once you know they're demon-owned, you kill them. At that point, the soul no longer has a body to live in and so will return to the demon." Sam frowned.

"It's not possible to save them?" Harry shook his head sadly.

"They made a bargain, they have to pay the price. The only way to save them is to convince the demon to give them up. And to be honest, most of the time, I don't bother trying."

"How can you be so callous?" Sam demanded. Harry shrugged.

"There's one thing you can say about demons and demonic bargains. The demon always makes sure the human knows exactly what they're bargaining with. They might not actually understand what selling their immortal soul means, but they know that that's what they're going to lose. And to be honest, there's enough literature out there which is reasonably accurate about the consequences of demonic bargains that I have no sympathy for them if they went in half-cocked."

"And what if they did it to save someone? Should they be punished for that?" croaked Sam. Harry sighed.

"Look, I don't mean to sound completely uncaring, but miracles come at a price. It might be the price of faith, of life, of health, of love, of eternity, but it always has a price. If you're not willing to pay the price, you shouldn't ask for the miracle."

"What do you know about it?" Dean demanded furiously, his face twisted. "You sit there with your damn stuck up attitude, condemning all those people, but what the hell do you know about it?" Harry smiled, but it wasn't one of humour.

"When I defeated Voldemort, I thought I would have to die. I walked to my death willingly. I died. There, I was given a choice to live or to move on. I chose to live. When I survived and killed Voldemort, I thought it was a miracle. I was alive, my friends were alive, my girlfriend was alive. People were dead, but far fewer than could have been killed. I thought there had been some sort of guardian angel looking over us.

"It was a miracle, but it wasn't free. I thought to achieve the miracle I would have to die. What I didn't realise was that I wasn't giving up my life, I was giving up my future. Five years on, married and hoping to start a family, I discovered I was sterile. My wife divorced me and I have to live with the knowledge that family, something I have always craved, was the price of peace."

"Do you regret it." Harry smiled again, this time more genuinely.

"Honestly? Yes. Sometimes. Then I think of that bastard and all he did to me, to my friends, to my world, and I know that I would do exactly the same thing again." There was silence. "Anyway, you didn't come here to hear my life story. You want to know how to kill a demon, then?"

"Yeah, properly dead. Not just exorcised." Harry nodded.

"Well, there are various ways. None particularly easy. There was that gun made a while back-"

"The Colt. Yeah, we know. That's not on the list anymore." Harry raised his eyebrows, but didn't ask.

"Then there are three swords which were made from the nails which pinned Christ to the cross. Nothing demonic can even touch those without feeling its demonic aura being shredded. A stab with one of those will kill a demon completely, even its main body in Hell." Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"So where can we find one of those bad boys?" Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"Uh, well I think Michael Carpenter is still wielding one of them. He's in America somewhere. Another is borne by Sanya the Russian. I'm not quite sure where he is. The other is lost, or at least is not somewhere easily found at the moment." Dean nodded.

"OK, we'll have to look up Carpenter, then. Any other ways?"

"They won't give up their swords without a fight and believe me, with God's luck on their side, they're not the easiest opponents. If you know the demon's human name and can find its human remains, there's a rumour you can kill them that way." Sam frowned.

"What do you mean, a demon's human remains?" Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"You don't know that much?"

"Don't know what?" demanded Dean.

"Most demons were once human. They ended up in Hell after their deaths, often from selling their souls, and Hell corrupted them into powerful, evil spirits: demons. But like any spirits, they have to have some anchor to the world: their bones. I've never heard of a demon who was seen after its bones were burnt. Of course, if your demon was once an angel, that doesn't help much. What is the name of your demon?"

"We don't know," Sam said, sounding a bit shell-shocked. Harry supposed it would be a shock to hear that those they encountered had once been human. For a while Harry had been worried that he would one day have to fight Voldemort as a demon. Thankfully, Death had assured him that, apart from those wizards who sold their souls, magical beings went to another afterlife, separate from that of Heaven or Hell.

"OK, what do his demon eyes look like?"

"Yellow," answered Sam with horror in his voice. "This rancid, mustard yellow, shot through with white and black." Harry nodded, biting his lip.

"Probably a fallen angel, corrupted by Hell into being a demon." Sam frowned.

"You can tell that?"

"Yeah. White, red and black eyes were once human. Anything else means a former angel."

"What do those other colours mean? We've only come across black eyed demons. And Yellow-eyes. There are more?" Harry nodded.

"Black is just the common demon. Not particularly powerful, relatively, mostly pawns out to create chaos. Red eyed demons are the ones with enough authority and power to make deals. White eyes are the rank above: usually over a millennium old and powerful. Above them are the fallen angels who are even more powerful , but usually don't leave Hell. There aren't many of them left, thank Merlin! I've only heard of four so far: Azazel, who currently rules Hell, Samhain, Beelzebub, Abaddon, and Crowley. And Lucifer, of course, but short of an apocalypse, there's no need to worry about him. There used to be another couple called Hastur and Ligur, but as far as I know, they were destroyed a couple of decades back. I'm pretty sure there were more who fell with Lucifer, but either they're gone or just don't visit the human realm."

"Two were destroyed? How?" Sam asked urgently, focusing in on the bit that was useful to them. Though, the other bits were interesting and worth further research. Dean's expression gained a slightly more eager cast.

"I have it on good authority that Ligur was killed by angel-blessed Holy water and Hastur was smote by an angel itself*."

"An angel." Dean said flatly, his face falling from its hopeful cast.

"Yes. Being a demon's natural opposite, each anathema to the other, their auras give them an advantage against demons that humans don't have. Most effective anti-demon weapons have something angelic at the core of them. Personally, I reckon the bullets to the Colt had something of an angel in because it's the only explanation for why they could kill demons, and could never be reproduced. Obviously, having an angel kill the demon is best, but Holy water blessed by an angel is a thousand times more potent than something you could do, or even something blessed by a priest. An angel's Holy water will shrivel up the demon's inner being like a slug covered in salt." Sam nodded eagerly.

"That does sound as though it would work!" Dean turned to stare at him.

"Sam? Why're you going along with this? He's batshit insane! Angels don't exist!"

"They don't? Oh dearie me, I must have been mistaken that the being who came to tea a week ago was an angel! Do forgive me," he mocked. Dean glared at him.

"OK Sammy. We're leaving this nut-job to his crack-dreams."

"You could do that," Harry agreed "or you could come with me to visit him."

The bell tinkled. Dean glared at it. The merry sound just reminded him that he'd lost the argument. Worse still, he was in a bookshop. Seeing the unholy glint in Sam's eyes and the twitch of his finger, Dean mentally groaned. It was going to be as hard as Hell to pull the bibliophile out of this place. Seriously, Dean couldn't see the appeal. Loads of dusty books with dry, barely legible texts and pages that smelt like something long-dead. Harry led them to the front of the shop.

"Aziraphale?" he called.

"Just a minute," someone called back, his voice muffled by the door to the back room. It sounded rather posh and very British. The door opened and out came someone who looked uncannily like a librarian. Dean looked incredulously at the glasses, middle-aged spread and crows-feet. _This_ was meant to be an angel? Then he saw the eyes. Deep pools of ancient blue, knowing and observant. Angel or not, the being called Aziraphale was most certainly not human.

"Harry!" the shop-owner beamed. "It's been ages since you last visited, my dear. How are you?" Harry smiled.

"Passable, thanks. You?" Aziraphale made an expression of distaste.

"I had to sell two books last week. _Two_!"

"Uh, aren't bookshops meant to sell books?" Dean broke in. The look on Aziraphale's face was so scandalised that Dean wondered whether some other comment had accidently come out of his brain instead. Though, come to think of it, the shop didn't really give the impression it _wanted_ to sell anything. Not that that was stopping Sam who was already half hidden behind a bookcase. Dean sighed.

"Sam," he called. His brother poked his head round the corner, then darted back. "Sam!" he tried again. The puppy-eyed look he got was almost enough to convince him, but twenty-five year old Sam had nothing on the pleading expression eleven year old Sam had had. He glared and Sam slowly slouched back to them, casting longing glances back at the books.

"There's a fifteenth century copy of Dante's Inferno! In the original Italian!" Dean sighed again. His nerdy little brother was back in action. He looked up to see that both Harry and the shop-owner were watching them with disturbing twinkles in their eyes.

"So, Harry, who have you brought to visit me today?"

"This is Dean and Sam Winchester. They're hunters." Dean nodded. Sam was a little more enthusiastic, immediately complimenting Aziraphale on his book collection. Aziraphale smiled at him and then frowned.

"Oh dear, the Winchesters?" Harry nodded, a frown on his face too. Aziraphale shook his head slowly, sighing sadly. "I'm sorry to say that your lives look to be getting a whole lot more complicated."

"What does that mean?" Dean demanded aggressively and Sam shifted beside him into a ready position. Aziraphale shook his head again.

"I'm sorry. I can't tell you. I'm on thin ice as it is. In fact, it's against orders to tell you I'm an angel, let alone anything else." Dean scoffed.

"Angel." Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and tried to look superior. It looked wrong on him, somehow.

"You do not believe me?"

"If angels exist, prove it." Aziraphale sighed and two large, white wings unfolded from the space behind his back. A sword appeared in his hand and burst into flame. He didn't spontaneously grow a halo, but he _did_ start glowing with a white light and his eyes could have been used for torches. A humming started and rose in volume until it tore at Dean's eardrums. The humans covered their ears, screwing up their faces. Dean shouted something he couldn't hear. He thought he admitted belief in angels and told the angel to turn 'the damn sound effects off'.

A moment later everything was back to what it had been with the angel looking smug. Dean thought the expression suited him better than the attempt at superiority. It didn't stop him from wanting to punch the book-keeper right in his smirking mouth, though. Dean darted a glance over to his brother, but the boy was star-struck, or, more to the point, angel-struck. He'd be hearing about this for months, the elder hunter groused internally.

"OK, so angels exist. I'll expect the tooth fairy tomorrow and Santa Claus next Thursday," he said sarcastically. "Now, can you give me anything to get rid of a demon or not?" The angel looked a bit taken aback. He looked over to the wizard for help. Harry obliged.

"They've got to deal with what I reckon is a fallen angel. I was wondering if you had some of that Holy water you gave to Crowley lying around somewhere?" The angel looked thoughtful.

"Well, it's no trouble to whip some up if I don't. Which fallen angel is it?" Harry shrugged.

"We don't know," Sam said, finally over his fan-girl moment. "We just know he has yellow eyes and apparently that's not a human-demon colour." The angel's gaze sharpened and he looked almost dangerous for a moment.

"This 'demon' wouldn't happen to have pupils like a snake, would he?" Sam's eyebrows went up.

"No. He doesn't have pupils at all. Just this mustard colour background with bits of white and black mixed in." The angel seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, though why knowing that would be good, Dean didn't know.

"Fine. I can bless some Holy water for you. It should do the trick as long as you get it all over the demon. Best way is probably to use a demon trap. Uh," he seemed to hesitate. "If you _do_ ever happen to come across a demon with eyes like a snake, that is, golden with slit pupils, by the name of Crowley, I would really appreciate it if you gave me a call rather than throwing Holy water on him or exorcising him." He fumbled in the drawers below the counter, finally withdrawing a dusty kind of business card which he passed over to Dean. "Crowley got them for me," he said in an aside to Harry, sounding a bit embarrassed. Dean just shoved his confusion out of his brain. This afternoon was surreal enough. No need to make it worse by questioning.

It seemed like a reasonable enough request, so Dean made a mental note. The rest of the time passed swiftly enough: the two brothers were given a whole five litre bottle of Holy water. Dean would be testing it as soon as they got the chance to make sure they hadn't been given a dud. Sam even managed to convince Aziraphale to part with one of his treasured tomes. Then it was just arranging a flight, putting the inflated ticket price on an unfortunate Mr Liam Peterson's credit card, and saying goodbye.

As they walked through the doors to the airport, Sam grinned smugly at his elder brother.

"So, angels, huh?" Dean glared at him.

"I'm not convinced." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Dean! The guy sprouted _wings_. He started _glowing_. He had a flaming _sword_. What else do you want?"

"To get laid. And a proper beer," Dean sniped back. Seeing Sam's bitch-face, he sighed. "Look, sure Aziraphale isn't human. To be honest, that just makes him something we hunt. Who says human legends about angels weren't about some supernatural race?" Sam glared at him.

"Demons exist! Can't you just accept-"

"Look," Dean interrupted. "I'm about to get on a hunk of flying junk which could take a nose-dive and become a flaming inferno at any moment. I _really _don't want to have this conversation with you now. Or ever."

Without waiting for a response, he widened his stride and approached a free desk-attendant. Sam was silent all through the process of getting their boarding passes and the walk to the waiting area. It wasn't until they were almost at the gate, about to board, that he spoke again.

"Blowing up those zombies was cool, though." Dean felt a grin creep on his face.

"Yeah. It was."

*My idea is that Hastur used to be close to Ligur in a rather negative (they are fallen angels/demons after all) way and took offence at his abrupt death. He came after Crowley for revenge but tried to attack while Aziraphale was having tea with his demon. The angel then engaged in battle and smote Hastur while Crowley was distracting him. Or something like that.

The brilliant explanation of Holy water is not mine. I found it in Kita Kitsune's 'Fifth World' and pounced on it (with permission). I think it's a wonderful way to get around the whole Holy water issue. After all, in GO, Holy water dissolves demons immediately, whereas in SPN, it just scalds them. So, how to get around the Holy water issue without making Crowley particularly vulnerable or resurrecting Ligur: make different levels of holiness.


End file.
